


Desire & Despair

by leplusmiserable



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Multi, The Barricade Boys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leplusmiserable/pseuds/leplusmiserable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The many adventures of a group of friends stronger than they thought, louder than they believed and closer than they could have ever hoped. Shenanigans, emotions and vices of the almost historical Barricade Boys and how they came to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First There Were Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet mostly everyone. Sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic so, don't murder me. Thanks :)

Grantaire had always been, for as long as anyone’d known him, very straight about his sexuality. And by very straight, I mean, very straight forward about being very, very gay. He had never been public about it, per say, but everyone knew, once everyone’d come to age to understand this sort of thing at least. By the tenth grade, Grantaire had already turned down several, “attractive” girls. Not like he’d really know. He had no doubt that girls could be pretty and apparently, some people thought they were “sexy”, but for Grantaire, nothing beat David Beckham in a pair of skinny jeans.

Being a fairly attractive and social boy himself, it didn’t take people long to figure it out. If anyone asked, he’d simply reply, “Do you have a problem with that?” No one ever did, except for those awkwardly Christian kids they went to school with who sort of just kept out of it with their ears plugged; fingers around a rosary or some shit. 

Obviously, he didn’t mind. He had his friends, and that’s what counted.

There were five of them who’d gone to high school together; Grantaire, Eponine, Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Marius. He was the artsy, punk rock kid, who’s only hope at college was that goddamn art portfolio he was always either restarting or procrastinating. Typically, he sported band t-shirts and black sweaters paired with tattered skinny jeans. Courfeyrac liked to call his style “being a hipster before it was cool” and although, initially, this made Grantaire cringe, he secretly took much pride in it – which is saying something considering he’s always either too depressed or too drunk to take pride in much. He always stuffed his shoulder length black curls sloppily into a green knit beanie his best friend had given him as a gift for his sixteenth birthday. His best friend was Eponine.

‘Ponine, to most - though Grantaire called her Ep - was the toughest chick in school by far. Tan, dark haired, mysterious and the only girl Grantaire knew that genuinely didn’t give a fuck what other people thought of her. She was cunning and excelled in all her classes because she was good at half of them and because she could wise talk her way through the others. Her only soft spot, unfortunately for R, was boys. This is unfortunate, because where as Grantaire would point out a hot guy at the mall and be over with it, Eponine would swindle over the same guys for eons and would be a total sap about it. Though he had to suffer through her constant, gooey infatuation with Marius, at least they could agree that his ass was a 10/10. 

Marius was nice. And the more he thought about it, he realised, that’s all Grantaire had on the guy. He didn’t see anything special in him, but Ep did, and so did Courfeyrac, who’d been Marius’ best friend since before they could talk and basically trusted him with his life. It wasn’t like R had a problem with Marius, he just couldn’t exactly see himself missing him if their baby faced nerd was no longer around. Although, Grantaire would miss having such an easy target for his sarcasm and brute remarks. Marius’ idealistic views and positivity were really just too much for him some days to refrain despite Courf’s annoyed glares.

But it wasn’t going to happen. Courfeyrac, didn’t let people go. He was sort of their mini leader. He held the group together like glue, kept them stuck at his hip all through out their four year nightmare. Courf was loud, and funny, and loved musical theatre way too much for a straight guy. He had soft black hair that just reached his eyebrows and always curled up in the weirdest places. His smile was crooked and his fashion sense was horrendous but Courf rocked the quirkiness in such a way that even left the cynical Grantaire impressed somedays. The only downside to him, in Grantaire’s opinion, was how oblivious he was to everything. Responsibilities, pain, and the number of girls lined up around his door. It was infuriating really, but he let it go.

Finally, Jehan. Now, in ways, Grantaire thought he belonged less in the group than onions do in an ice cream sundae but, Jehan didn’t have many friends when he moved to their town sophomore year so naturally, Courf took the shy poet under his wing and suddenly, it was as if Jehan’d been there the whole time. Jehan was probably the most feminine of the group, which is saying something considering, you know, the girl and the gay guy. He knew Jehan couldn’t possibly be totally straight but, hey, no judgement and no assumptions. Jehan didn’t really talk about that sort of stuff either. He just went about his business wearing floral prints and tying back his long red hair in a low ponytail with a purple ribbon. Still, Grantaire can’t exactly pinpoint when it was Jehan became part of them, but before he knew it, he was snapping at poetry readings and sneaking the kid out of his overprotective mother’s house to go party at 2am on a Wednesday.

When plans for college became and important consideration, Courfeyrac didn’t care in the slightest where he went, as long as he was with all his friends, and so he looked into it with the help of Marius.

Social work for Eponine, fine arts for Grantaire, literature for Jehan, political sciences for Marius… “Hm, how about architecture, Courf?” Marius asked, pointing at a link over Courfeyrac’s shoulder, “You’d like that. Some drawing, a bit of physics…”

“Why not?” he laughed taking a swig of beer, “I’ll probably change my mind a thousand times, anyways.”

“How would you know? I bet you’re not even going to go to any lectures.”

“Touché.” 

What Courfeyrac was more concerned about was the parties and the people. He was ready to expand his group. Meet a thousand new people and score - who knows? - several more people cool and tolerable enough for him to love like family. That’s why Courfeyrac was going to college.

“Oh! How did we miss this one?” Marius almost shouted, “Here.” He pulled out a pamphlet from the bottom of the pile and tapped the address into his laptop. “‘Ponine and I have already received conditional acceptances from this one. Jehan’s brilliant, he’ll get accepted in no time flat, and their arts program… Well, Grantaire will have no trouble getting in, at least.”

“I’m in.” He clicked open the registration PDF.

“And I think I have a friend going there… Lemme just…” Marius pulled out his phone and dialled. Hardly three seconds passed before someone answered. “Combe! Hey, what were you saying about that place you were looking at?”

* * * * *

September came quicker than Grantaire thought it would and, in all honesty, he was slightly nervous about beginning college. He and Eponine had spent their summer working at some dumb Starbucks they both hated, and quit as soon as they could. Marius had gone to visit his grandfather in France. Courfeyrac worked holding a stop sign at a road construction site after learning how well it pays to, literally, do nothing, and Jehan had some internship or something at their college already. Though they’d barely seen each other for three months, they picked up their conversation as if nothing had changed.

After their lovely meal at the campus McDonalds, they all trekked back to their cars and followed Marius’ lead to the house his “outsider” friend had found. Eponine, a little nervous, to live in a house full of boys, opted for the dorms across the street. She decided they’d move her and Jehan - whose dorm came basically included with the same scholarship that got him that weird internship thing - in afterwards. 

Almost nervously, Marius knocked at the door, his troops just behind him.

The door swung open almost immediately and a bright face popped up from around the corner. 

“Marius!” he shouted, shoving his shaggy, light brown bangs out of his eyes. His smile got even bigger, not that Grantaire thought that was possible. “And company!” he laughed, as if he’d just noticed they were even there. “Well, come in, come in, of course!” 

They filed in one by one down the narrow hall way until they reached the main room. Between the smell of cigarettes and vodka, Grantaire was already feeling more comfortable than he thought he would. “So, who’s all staying?” The man asked, obviously not realizing who was who, but looking Eponine up and down as if he hoped she was one of them. Grantaire and Courfeyrac humbly raised their hands. “Ah! Welcome, boys. Name’s Combeferre. There are two rooms left upstairs and one at the end of that hall. I’ll let you battle out your own arrangements.” 

“Yeah, we’re all men here!” snickered another voice coming down the stairs. He, too, stopped when he noticed, Eponine. “Pardon, Mademoiselle.” He curtsied a bit and made his way to the fridge. 

“That’s Joly, who is studying medicine despite his annoyingly prominent germ phobia,” Combeferre threw in. Joly grimaced as he washed his hands, pulled out an apple, and proceeded to wash that too. Twice. Grantaire laughed a little.

Another set of footsteps trampled down the stairs, at an uneven and dangerously sloppy place. He was dressed in a work uniform from some department store probably. The dirty blond introduced himself as Feuilly before sprinting out the door, mumbling something about hating his job with the burning passion of a thousand suns.

In the end, Grantaire got stuck with the main floor room, right across from the closed door that belonged to a mystery man, yet to return from the library. Pfft, he thought, what a nerd. Already, at the library? Classes haven’t even started yet. He was about half way through unpacking his bag of art supplies and unfolded clothes when Eponine returns with pizza for the boys, complaining about how she still hasn’t gotten to her own dorm and how this better not become a regular thing but, spoiler; this becomes a regular thing.

They start by discussing what classes they have, but they quickly tire of the subject and move on to their latest obsessions in television shows and books and music and…

“R! It’s nine o’clock!” Eponine whines.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Grantaire mocks, patting her gently on the head. She swats him away. 

“I want to go to my room. Will you…?” The puppy dog eyes get broken out as she nods towards the door. He groans a bit but she knows he can’t refuse. She smiles and drags him out the door by the hand, one last piece of pizza in his other one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you think at humpthecavewall.tumblr.com :)  
> Thanks for reading! I know this didn't have much plot - or emotion really - it was just sort of to introduce the characters and my writing style. Please stay tuned for the next chapter in which the real story shall begin..  
> I really appreciate feedback. I might not be the best writer out there, but hopefully I'm slightly amusing and my headcannons of the boys are accepted. XP 
> 
> I love them a lot.


	2. Cosette Fauchelevent vs. Eponine Thenardier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire meets Eponine's new roommate, Cosette.

Eponine convinced her best friend to carry her suitcase up four flights of stairs for her. She argues that “at least it’s all she has” but Grantaire fires back that it “doesn’t make this bag any lighter”. It is, though, he’ll agree, just one suitcase and a back pack with her school supplies, which for a girl isn’t actually half bad. In fact, if you don’t include his art supplies, it's hardly more than he brought. Grantaire was never quite sure why Eponine didn’t have a lot of things. Eponine was good enough to get her hands on anything she wanted, he was sure, but she doesn't even try. Not like the rest of her family does, and she doesn’t collect things and hoard them like he does. Maybe she’s too humble to live off any more than the basics. Or the other possibility, that she had too much pride to.

He knew about her home life. He always had and he always knew she hated talking about it. He knew she hated it when he showed up unexpectedly at her door. He knew Gavroche was the only family member she gave two shits about. Most importantly, he knew that Eponine’s life was Eponine’s business and although, the bruises and tears scared him sometimes, he knew he couldn’t change her stubbornness about the whole situation, and that’s what hurt him most of all.

Then again, that's probably why they'd clicked in the first place. Together they could be self-loathing, and cynical, and just shitty people overall. Of course, no one would ever dare say that to their face, though they both recognized that it was true. Eponine and Grantaire were scary to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own friends.

“Ugh,” he sighed, dropping the suitcase off his back, “Finally.” She giggled at him and fumbled around with the keys for a minute. Before she could even figure out which key to use, the door popped open in such a way that Grantaire half expected Combeferre’s overly enthusiastic face to appear. Instead, they were greeted by a petite, blonde in an even more petite, black pencil skirt and lilac blouse. Immediately, the pair felt underdressed in their torn jeans and leather jackets though the girl wasn’t even phased.

“You must be Eponine!” She did a little jump and snatched Ep into a quick and friendly embrace. “And… Your boyfriend?” She asked casually, turning to Grantaire.

“Oh, honey, I don’t swing that way,” Grantaire smirked, winking before sneaking past her in an attempt not to roll his eyes at her cheeriness. Eponine shrugged and the blonde let out a warm cackle at the remark. They turned to follow him back into the room.

“Good to know, seeing as my second question was going to be if you were single.”

“Either way, I am,” he stated. He turned to face her, tearing his eyes away from the dullness of the empty half of the grey dorm room. “And you are?”

“Also, single, yes,” she retorted. His slightly warmer than normal smile indicated to Eponine that he approved of her easy going roommate and she smiled in return. Another rich laugh. “Cosette.” She extended a dainty hand.

“Grantaire, but R is fine.” They shook hands and then Cosette turned her attention back to Eponine.

“I hope you don’t mind, I already chose that side of the room,” she apologized, motioning towards the already made bed with floral sheets, the head frame surrounded by white Christmas lights and an elegant pink lamp plopped on the dresser. Her MacBook was humming quietly on her bed and illuminating the cover of an old copy of – Grantaire tilted his head to read – _The Great Gatsby_. _Good choice_. “I was waiting for you but once you hadn’t shown up by five, I got bored.”

“It’s absolutely fine,” Eponine laughed, jumping on to the other bed to sit cross legged beside Grantaire. “So,” she coos, looking over to him, as Cosette returns to her computer, “Gonna keep me company while I unpack?”

“Of course, ma cherie,” he says flatly. “What else could I possibly be doing?” It’s like Grantaire doesn’t even have to try to make the girls laugh. Cosette puts her iTunes on shuffle.

Grantaire notices how soft everything about her is. From the flowery colour scheme of her belongings to the gentle rhythm of the acoustic type folk songs that play from her speakers. He wants to assume that she’s some boring, try hard hipster, with too many mushy feelings and not enough experience with liquor, but he’s proven wrong time and time again by her witty remarks and firey passion that emanates from her bright blue eyes every time they come in contact with his grey ones. She offers them each a pack of Strawberry poptarts, _which are better off raw anyways,_ and helps teach Grantaire how to properly fold clothing.

Cosette tells them about her father, who’s currently running a charity organization overseas. She’s very fond of her father and there is an obviously strong connection between to two of them, evident simply in the awe that she describes him with. Her mother is never mentioned but Grantaire and Eponine know better than to ask. She also tells them about her dreams of becoming a history teacher at this middle school for orphans she volunteered at last summer. Her whole humanitarian deal seems very fitting. She barely pauses between breaths to let the others tell her anything about themselves. They don’t mind though. Not only is Cosette’s voice as soothing to listen to as the soft song of a lark, but they don’t think they have anything worthy of sharing. Or at least sharing so beautifully. Every sentence is perfectly articulated and Grantaire never hears her say “Uh” or “Uhm” once. When she does pause, it’s to sing along to the music, and her singing voice is even more entrancing than her speech.

Suddenly, the vibe in the room changes. Eponine and Grantaire both flick their heads up instantly.

“Is this… Led Zepplin?” Eponine asks, shock behind her voice.

“Uh, yeah?” Cosette looks confused at first and then, lets out that same warm laugh. “You two didn’t honestly think I only had one playlist on my whole laptop, did you?” They both sort of look dumbstruck by this sudden change of pace and Cosette skips over to turn it up.

“Now, this is more like it!” Grantaire laughs, nodding his head to the beat, folding the last of Eponine’s socks – the only thing he actually, sort of, got the hang of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow.. okay I told myself I'd update every Sunday, but it is now Tuesday.  
> And I have a shit ton of math homework anyways...  
> I feel accomplished with 9 kudos on my first chapter, too.   
> More than I thought I'd get. Also, this chapter is kinda short, oops.  
> Feedback is appreciated - humpthecavewall.tumblr.com :)  
> THANKS FOR READING


	3. The Marble Statue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire meets his final roommate. Holy shit.

 It’s past midnight when Grantaire returns to the house. He’s still half smiling from his evening with the girls and so tired that he saunters into the main room in a sort of daze. At first, he doesn’t even realize there is another figure in the room. He turns on the coffee machine and waits for this morning’s coffee to heat back up. Trying to be as quiet as he can, in the darkness of a room he’s been in only twice before, he begins looking for mugs. He’s opening and closing cupboard after cupboard, flinching every time he smacks his hand into some plates or Tupperware, causing small clatters on each contact.

 Finally, a voice speaks up from the couch. “Top left.”

 Grantaire jumps, what feels like, six feet in the air. He can feel his heart pounding. Partially, it was because he wasn’t aware of another person in his presence; partially, because he didn’t recognize the voice at all; but mostly, because he’d never heard a voice so… Well, so like that one. In a way, it was harsh. Harsh enough to feel like Grantaire needed to respond with, “Sir, yes, sir!” But in another way, it was sweet and soft; silky as warm honey. Beads of sweat were forming on his head. _Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuckfuckfuck… What is happening?_

 He was desperate to hear it again. “Jesus!” he spat, trying not to sound too cruel, while at the same time trying to disguise the nervousness and embarrassment that came with feeling like he’d been wooed with a mere two words. “Don’t you turn on a light?”

 “Don’t need one,” he states and Grantaire can feel himself beginning to melt. He can barely make out a dark figure reclined on the couch, illuminated only slightly by the moonlight leaking in through the parlour window and around his strong torso. The figure reaches out and, with a click, turns on the table lamp beside him. 

 Grantaire couldn’t believe his eyes. He almost falls over with shock. He didn’t think it was possible for any man to be more attractive than the voice which had come from the same man’s mouth. And above it all? There he was, in all his God-like glory, sitting up casually on this ratty old couch in Grantaire’s house. Just… sitting there. Like he belonged here, but there was no way that he could. Did Grantaire walk into the wrong house? Maybe he’s dreaming…? 

 But no, the golden haired boy runs his hands through his curls and proceeds to pull out a head phone. “I was just listening to this podcast about… Never mind, it’s boring. I should be going to bed, anyways. I have a lecture at eight. Good night.” He gets up to leave, readjusting his red v-neck t-shirt and revealing to Grantaire just how tight his light wash jeans are on his sculpted legs. For the second time tonight, he feels underdressed despite them both being dressed equally as casually. He bows his head slightly and begins to take a step. Grantaire panics.

 “Uh,” he half laughs. The boy looks back at him intently, his face like stone, and his body stiff and sculpted. _Wow, a living, breathing marble statue in my living room,_ Grantaire thinks, trying to steady his breaths, because with his luck, he’ll probably fuck this up within the next two minutes. He doesn’t need to speed up the process. He’s too star struck. He already wants to strip the man down to his boxers and paint him in glorious reds and golds across every canvas he could get his scrawny hands on. He wants to know him. He wants to kiss him. He wants to _not fuck this up_. “I don’t think we’ve met?” he breathes.

 “No, we have not,” he says, his plain expression still not changing. He points to himself, sarcastically. “Enjolras.” _Enjolras. Enjolras._ Grantaire continues to repeat the name time after time in his head. The melody of his rash voice playing over and over again. Enjolras then motions to him. 

 “Right, uh, I’m Grantaire, or R, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m friends with Marius and my room’s just down there and I, uh, do art here and uh, sorry I just got back. I’m so loud and I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m s – uh, I… uh oh.” His voice trails off. He’s looking down at the ground. _Shut up, you bumbling idiot. What are you doing, you fucking…_ When he looks up, Enjolras’ frame still unmoved but he’s cocked his eyebrow and his head is slightly tilted to the left. Something in his eyes makes him look as like a confused puppy. An _interested,_ but confused puppy. Not to mention, slightly less intimidating than before.

 They just stare at each other a few seconds, both slightly confused, and making enough eye contact for Grantaire to feel especially uncomfortable by how turned on he is. But he couldn’t bear to look away. He studied the man’s baby blue eyes deeply, searching for something familiar… but it was all new. Grantaire didn’t know what he was thinking. He couldn’t figure out a single thing about him. He only knew that whatever it was, he had to learn it. Enjolras already had him on a string but, God only knows if he was swayed at all by the artist’s presence.

 The silence was finally broken by the _Ding!_ of the coffee pot. Enjolras looks away and Grantaire clears his throat. “Good night, Enjolras,” he manages to squeak. Enjolras goes to the top left cupboard, pulls out a black mug with a red rim and places it on the counter with a spoon before stalking off and shutting his door gently, but firmly behind him, without saying another word.

 Grantaire literally has to clutch his chest the second he’s certainly alone. His heart is racing in a way it never has before. _What the fuck is this!?_ He holds onto the counter for support but still finds his brain fumbling around as his insides turn to mush. His anxiety is never this bad. Usually, his depression and cynicism repress most other feelings. But this… this is new.

 He doesn’t really feel like coffee anymore so he shuts off the machine and fills the mug with water, absent mindedly stirring it with the spoon. He floats over to his room, throws off his clothing and climbs into bed in his boxers. He curls up in his covers and drifts off to sleep thinking about that marble face, that eloquent voice, that man across the hall who he could tell already, was in everyway much too good for some sloppy, carefree punk like himself. But it doesn’t stop Grantaire from dreaming.

 His dream is absolutely magnificent, but it’s the kind much more magical, and much less awkward, if he keeps it to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter was short, too. But there's only so much one can do on the first meeting.
> 
> Hopefully, people are actually following this. Either way, I appreciate you taking the time to read this.
> 
> If you are following it though, sorry my updates take forever. I've been tied up recently.
> 
> I'm working on it. Hope you like it and thanks again!
> 
> Feedback welcome - or just come say 'Hello' - at humpthecavewall.tumblr.com :)


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